Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Bruise pristine.
In the evening, we biked home but not before making a short pitstop to pool-hop at Alexandria park. I guess I knocked my knee while clambering over the metal fence, because I woke up with this bad boy this morning.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Capsize
“Billy, she's a beaut!”
“Thanks!” Billy grinned as his
older brother slapped him heartily on the back. They stood on the
dock admiring the little boat, bobbing up and down in the water.
“Come aboard,” Billy invited Don,
extending a hand. “I've got to show you her sexy little engine.”
Don couldn't care less about boats or
engines. They were Billy's thing, always had been since they were
kids. But this was the first time in a long time he had seen his
little brother excited about anything, and he was more than happy to
indulge him. So he nodded enthusiastically as Billy listed off the
specs, and gave a low whistle like he was impressed when Billy announced the speed she could hit, though knots meant
nothing to him.
He figured his attempt to feign
interest was poorer than he thought, because after ten minutes of the
charade, Billy's face seemed to fall.
“Aren't you gonna offer a guy a
drink?” Dan chided.
“Of course, of course,” and Billy
hustled him into the cabin, rooting through some cupboards before
producing two glasses and a bottle of bourbon. He poured generously.
“We'll have to get the boys around
sometime soon. Christen her properly, you know? Take her down the
river, a real fishing trip. Maybe take Dad's old guitar with us, what
do you say?”
Don swallowed a mouthful and nodded but
said nothing. It was a nice idea but it would never happen. The
“boys” he referred to were only boys of summers long gone. They
were men now. Johnny's wife had just had their second kid, Lucas was
working in the city and usually only home for a week around
Thanksgiving and Ed Wirth was moving to Ohio for a woman. There would
be no fishing trip to celebrate Billy's acquisition of a small boat.
“Of course,” Don added with a smirk
“This boat has a lot more potential than just getting drunk with a
bunch of hairy, stinking dudes. Girls will love it. You always hear
about how much pussy sailors get!”
Billy gave a half smile but looked away
and muttered that he didn't think so.
Don laughed, and slammed his glass on
the table.
“I'm telling you Billy Boy, this
boat's gonna see more action than the audience at a Steven Segal
double bill!”
Billy wasn't amused. “Ah, c'mon, stop...
Hey, how's mom doing?”
And that was it. Don had pushed too
hard and now the rest of the evening would be spent discussing family
stuff and the superbowl.
Around midnight, Don hugged his brother
goodbye. Billy decided he might as well sleep on the boat, it was late,
he was too drunk to drive home anyway, told Don he should stay too.
Don knew he should, and maybe if he'd been sober he'd
have stayed, just to be nice. But he was drunk and the thought of
staying in that lonely little cabin with his brother and playing
boyscouts was depressing, so he dug his hands in his pockets and
started to stumble home. It was still warm enough and there were
stars. He wondered if Jill was asleep, and wished she was waiting in
his bed for him to cuddle up to. Maybe he could call round to her
place.. nah, it was late, she'd think he just wanted to get laid. He did want to get laid, of course, but that wasn't the only reason he wanted to see
her. Nah, he'd leave it. He could see her tomorrow. He wondered if Billy felt like this
every night. How it must feel, knowing that no, you won't see her
tomorrow. That poor fucking bastard.
For a second, when Billy woke, he
didn't know where he was. White sheets... white sheets... why are
these sheets white? Then he remembered he'd slept on the boat, got up
and stood out on the deck. It wasn't until then, a whole minute after
waking, that he thought of Rebecca. He was used to waking up on the blue sheets she had picked out, being disappointed not to feel her body
next to his, seeing her photograph on his night stand. But this
moring, for an entire minute, Rebecca didn't exist. He had never
known her, loved her, lost her. Until, standing on the deck he
smelled that harbourside smell she had always commented on, and he'd
thought of her, and his heart sank.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
For she's a jolly good fellow.
Oh man, a friend just posted a clip of Disney's Fantasia on facebook, and it brought back some traumatising memories I thought I'd share!
It's nearly my eighth birthday. I'm not a kid anymore. Previous birthdays involved tea-parties with my mom and my dolls, mostly just my dolls. I really loved dolls. But not this year, I'm eight and I'm ready to have a real birthday party, with real friends! Or at least real kids my age. It's going to be a normal party, we're going to do the things normal kids do, there will be rice krispie buns and we'll watch movies and everyone will leave thinking "Amanda is so cool and normal!".
Being normal is important when you're eight.
So I invited about ten kids from my class, including two boys, which was kind of a big deal. Gerard was my on-off boyfriend all through primary school (I'm pretty sure we held hands once) and Podge had big brown eyes and the biggest mushroom-step haircut in the class, like woah.
So everyone comes, and they give me sparkly note pads and glitter glue pens and squishy bracelets, you know the typical neon fare for a birthday in the early nineties (apart from one girl who gave me this really unusual but pretty silk flower in a glass vase filled with water.. kind of like this. Which I liked so much I bought a similar one for a girl's birthday the following year who looked at it in disgust and said "Why are you giving me a grave ornament?")
Anyway, all is going well and then it's time for the movie. My mom had rented a video earlier, and when I asked what she'd gotten I hadn't heard of it, but she assured me she asked the clerk for something for a birthday and I figured it must just be a new release. What followed was the most embarrassing twenty minutes of my life at that stage.
Have you ever seen Fantasia?!
It's fucking weird as shit. All I really remember is that it was weird and creepy and there were no words, and there were hippos dancing in tutus and I couldn't decide if I thought it was for babies, or for grown ups (high grown ups) but it was definitely not appropriate viewing for a normal eight year old's birthday. Normal kids had normal moms who rented normal movies like Hook or the Goonies or the Neverending Story 2: The Next Chapter. What kind of bullshit was this?! Oh god, and everyone was like "Uh... what is this, Amanda?" and I'm all "Um... I think it gets better", thinking "It HAS to get better!" until I eventually begged my mom to let me turn it off despite her telling me I was being silly and ungrateful and everyone probably wanted to see the end. No, mom, nobody wants to see the end!
And that was the day I decided never to even try be cool ever again. I think it was the first time I truly experienced embarrassment. If I ever have a kid I will be force-screening Fantasia at it's eighth birthday for character building purposes, and for kicks.
UPDATE!
I found a couple old photographs from that particular birthday the other week, so I thought I'd add one. I'm in the pink and purple ensemble.
And that was the day I decided never to even try be cool ever again. I think it was the first time I truly experienced embarrassment. If I ever have a kid I will be force-screening Fantasia at it's eighth birthday for character building purposes, and for kicks.
UPDATE!
I found a couple old photographs from that particular birthday the other week, so I thought I'd add one. I'm in the pink and purple ensemble.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Felt the fear and did it anyway. Boom.
So, I made a dentist appointment today. So what? Well, I'm it's kind of a big deal.
You should probably read my original post first -the general gist being that after ELEVEN YEARS of avoiding the dentist due to sheer terror, I decided to try to actually deal with my phobia instead of hiding from it and feeling like I was being followed around by an ever increasing dread cloud the last few years.
Actually, I never really made an update after that post. I talked about my plans to psyche myself up to make an appointment and confront my biggest fear and ... then never followed up. What a tease!
So, come settle down children and mama's gonna tell you a story. A wonderful story, the best true life story that ever was since Homeward Bound! Well, just before Christmas 2011, I went to the dentist. I just ended up going to a local guy my mom regularly goes to. My doctor had prescribed me valium for the occasion, but on the morning of the big day I was so stressed out that I forgot to take it until five minutes before the appointment and by that stage there was no point. (Don't let me make the same mistake on my wedding day! Eh? Eh?). My sister drove me up. The surgery (why do they have to call a dentist's office a surgery? Why not just call it an office? Ugh) was located in a regular house. I sat in the waiting room for about five minutes, nervously laughing (while secretly wanting to vomit) with my sister who was totally getting a kick out of the thing, but still being nice and sisterly and telling me I'd be fine. Then the dentist came out and lead me into the room.
First off, it was pretty nice! It had French doors that looked onto a backyard with lots of flowers, and felt a lot less formal than I expected. The chair too -that looming figure from my nightmares -was also less intimidating than imagined. It was smaller than I remembered, and much lower... less like an operating table and more like a chaise longue. The dentist was super nice too. I guiltily told him how long it had been, feeling like a lapsed Catholic at confession and he just told me there'd be nothing to worry about. Next thing I'm saying "ahhh" and I can taste the latex gloves as he pokes around and prods a little with the little mirror and pointy thing. I was still nervous, but a few months beforehand, just imagining this much would have had crying and retching. But here I was, doing it, in real life! And I just remember thinking "this really isn't so bad...". I'm still waiting for him to recoil in horror, to call for back-up, to give me some indication of just how far gone things are. Instead he asks if I grind my teeth. I said I didn't think I did, but I drank a lot of soda -my big, dark, dental secret. (Why would someone who hates dentists do much do that to herself?). Then he said he wanted to take an x-ray, so I had to bite down on these weird metal things that made me think of electroschock therapy, but obviously, it was painless. This whole thing took about five minutes and then he pushed himself back on the wheelie stool he was sitting on and said "Right!" as if that was everything. Here it comes, I thought, trying to absorb and appreciate these last precious moments of ignorance before hearing the verdict, the long list of things that needed doing.
"That's perfect then. Just come back in a few months and try not to grind your teeth, I can see some wearing on your enamel."
"What, you mean that's it?!"
"Yep. See, nothing to worry about."
"You mean I don't even have any cavities or... anything?!"
"Nope. Don't let anyone touch your teeth, they're fine! And really, once you get to your twenties if you don't have many cavities it generally means you have strong teeth and shouldn't expect to get cavities as long as you look after them."
This was insane. I could not believe it. This was impossible. I hadn't even hoped for an outcome as unrealistic and awesome as this one. I walked out to the receptionist to pay up and was stunned. My sister saw my face, probably white as a sheet from the shock, and asked how it went, excitedly. Frankly, I think she was a little disappointed when I explained I had been given the all clear, and who could blame her... there had been such a build up to this, that it was almost a anti-climactic. Almost. I was on top of the world, and I still think that's always going to be one of the best moments of my entire life. And if you think that's sad then you just don't understand how big this fear was and what a triumph it was to face it. To not need any work was just a dream come true on top.
It was a Christmas miracle!!
That was a year and a half ago. I purposely didn't visit a dentist during my year in Korea because I had heard scary things, and meant to go as soon as I came home, but of course it's pretty easy to put off things we don't want to do. Still, it's been well over a year and I do not want to let it go so long that all that fear builds up again, I know it's best to go when the memory of that super positive experience is still fresh in my mind. So, I phoned today, like the total badass that I am, and I have the check-up Thursday. And I'm certainly nervous and fearful and worried but it is absolutely nothing in comparison to how I felt two years ago. Two years ago, choosing to go to the dentist of my own accord was just an impossibility. Downright unfathomable.
I know it all sounds very trivial and first world problems of me if you've never experienced a phobia to the same extent. But it honestly changed my life, to know that I could do the one thing in life that scared me most. That means I can do anything. (Well, not anything, I'll still never be able to do a cartwheel or ride a bike with no hands or drink cream liqueurs, but you know what I mean.) It's weird though, to think that two years ago I had this crippling phobia that was affecting me on a personal level, I mean I got depressed about it every day. And now, I actually feel free. I don't know, I'm really not into all that new-age-y bullshit, but I will never underestimate the power of positive thinking and ideation. If you have a phobia or just a fear/dread of something that is affecting your life, I really would urge you to do something about it. Make a plan, start imagining positive experiences, create favourable memories even if they are fictitious, KNOW that the imagined fear is a zillion times worse than the actual experience will be, take small steps, think about how fucking rad you will feel about yourself when you conquer it, and how you will wish you had done it sooner.
And if that doesn't work, just be grateful you don't have mangoworms. (Seriously, do a youtube search for mangoworms. It's THE WORST. I can't stop watching.)
You should probably read my original post first -the general gist being that after ELEVEN YEARS of avoiding the dentist due to sheer terror, I decided to try to actually deal with my phobia instead of hiding from it and feeling like I was being followed around by an ever increasing dread cloud the last few years.
Actually, I never really made an update after that post. I talked about my plans to psyche myself up to make an appointment and confront my biggest fear and ... then never followed up. What a tease!
So, come settle down children and mama's gonna tell you a story. A wonderful story, the best true life story that ever was since Homeward Bound! Well, just before Christmas 2011, I went to the dentist. I just ended up going to a local guy my mom regularly goes to. My doctor had prescribed me valium for the occasion, but on the morning of the big day I was so stressed out that I forgot to take it until five minutes before the appointment and by that stage there was no point. (Don't let me make the same mistake on my wedding day! Eh? Eh?). My sister drove me up. The surgery (why do they have to call a dentist's office a surgery? Why not just call it an office? Ugh) was located in a regular house. I sat in the waiting room for about five minutes, nervously laughing (while secretly wanting to vomit) with my sister who was totally getting a kick out of the thing, but still being nice and sisterly and telling me I'd be fine. Then the dentist came out and lead me into the room.
First off, it was pretty nice! It had French doors that looked onto a backyard with lots of flowers, and felt a lot less formal than I expected. The chair too -that looming figure from my nightmares -was also less intimidating than imagined. It was smaller than I remembered, and much lower... less like an operating table and more like a chaise longue. The dentist was super nice too. I guiltily told him how long it had been, feeling like a lapsed Catholic at confession and he just told me there'd be nothing to worry about. Next thing I'm saying "ahhh" and I can taste the latex gloves as he pokes around and prods a little with the little mirror and pointy thing. I was still nervous, but a few months beforehand, just imagining this much would have had crying and retching. But here I was, doing it, in real life! And I just remember thinking "this really isn't so bad...". I'm still waiting for him to recoil in horror, to call for back-up, to give me some indication of just how far gone things are. Instead he asks if I grind my teeth. I said I didn't think I did, but I drank a lot of soda -my big, dark, dental secret. (Why would someone who hates dentists do much do that to herself?). Then he said he wanted to take an x-ray, so I had to bite down on these weird metal things that made me think of electroschock therapy, but obviously, it was painless. This whole thing took about five minutes and then he pushed himself back on the wheelie stool he was sitting on and said "Right!" as if that was everything. Here it comes, I thought, trying to absorb and appreciate these last precious moments of ignorance before hearing the verdict, the long list of things that needed doing.
"That's perfect then. Just come back in a few months and try not to grind your teeth, I can see some wearing on your enamel."
"What, you mean that's it?!"
"Yep. See, nothing to worry about."
"You mean I don't even have any cavities or... anything?!"
"Nope. Don't let anyone touch your teeth, they're fine! And really, once you get to your twenties if you don't have many cavities it generally means you have strong teeth and shouldn't expect to get cavities as long as you look after them."
This was insane. I could not believe it. This was impossible. I hadn't even hoped for an outcome as unrealistic and awesome as this one. I walked out to the receptionist to pay up and was stunned. My sister saw my face, probably white as a sheet from the shock, and asked how it went, excitedly. Frankly, I think she was a little disappointed when I explained I had been given the all clear, and who could blame her... there had been such a build up to this, that it was almost a anti-climactic. Almost. I was on top of the world, and I still think that's always going to be one of the best moments of my entire life. And if you think that's sad then you just don't understand how big this fear was and what a triumph it was to face it. To not need any work was just a dream come true on top.
It was a Christmas miracle!!
That was a year and a half ago. I purposely didn't visit a dentist during my year in Korea because I had heard scary things, and meant to go as soon as I came home, but of course it's pretty easy to put off things we don't want to do. Still, it's been well over a year and I do not want to let it go so long that all that fear builds up again, I know it's best to go when the memory of that super positive experience is still fresh in my mind. So, I phoned today, like the total badass that I am, and I have the check-up Thursday. And I'm certainly nervous and fearful and worried but it is absolutely nothing in comparison to how I felt two years ago. Two years ago, choosing to go to the dentist of my own accord was just an impossibility. Downright unfathomable.
I know it all sounds very trivial and first world problems of me if you've never experienced a phobia to the same extent. But it honestly changed my life, to know that I could do the one thing in life that scared me most. That means I can do anything. (Well, not anything, I'll still never be able to do a cartwheel or ride a bike with no hands or drink cream liqueurs, but you know what I mean.) It's weird though, to think that two years ago I had this crippling phobia that was affecting me on a personal level, I mean I got depressed about it every day. And now, I actually feel free. I don't know, I'm really not into all that new-age-y bullshit, but I will never underestimate the power of positive thinking and ideation. If you have a phobia or just a fear/dread of something that is affecting your life, I really would urge you to do something about it. Make a plan, start imagining positive experiences, create favourable memories even if they are fictitious, KNOW that the imagined fear is a zillion times worse than the actual experience will be, take small steps, think about how fucking rad you will feel about yourself when you conquer it, and how you will wish you had done it sooner.
And if that doesn't work, just be grateful you don't have mangoworms. (Seriously, do a youtube search for mangoworms. It's THE WORST. I can't stop watching.)
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Testing, testing.. 1, 2, 3..
There is something about being tested for a disease of some sort that instantly makes me feel 300 times more likely to have it than were I not tested. Is there a name for this? Like, a more specific name than regular paranoia?
I get regular STI tests, aiming for about every six months. And I've never really suspected I've had an STI (which, bear in mind, can often be symptomless), I just get checked to be on the safe side, and because THAT'S WHAT RESPONSIBLE, SEXUALLY MATURE GROWN-UPS DO (If you can't tell from previous posts, it pisses me off that most guys I know do not get tested regularly, or in many cases, ever. You deserve to never get laid!)
Still, from the moment I pee in that cup until the moment I get my results, I'm suddenly convinced that I have acquired every STI under the sun. What if all my previous tests and clear results have been one big admin error and it turns out I have an extremely advanced stage of AIDS? What if that in-grown hair I had a couple weeks ago wasn't an ingrown hair at all, but was in fact My First Herpe? What if I have some new thing that they don't even have a test for yet?! It doesn't matter if I have been accidentally celibate since my last test, I'm still paranoid that by the very action of getting tested, I've caught something.
So, when I arrived in Korea and was taken to a hospital on my second day for the routine medical testing, I got predictably worried again. A chest x-ray, physical, urine and blood tests. In fact, it was my first blood test ever. (I was so super-pleasantly surprised at how quick and painless the blood test actually was, that I'm no longer that bothered my needles actually. Win!)
Still, despite not being into unprotected sex or intravenous drugs, I was terrified when I went to collect my results a week later. What if, what if, what if? A lot of my fellow teacher friends admitted to experiencing the same paranoia over their health checks too.
The tests checked for HIV and Hepatitis, and if we had one, we would immediately have our visas cancelled, be sent home and would not be reimbursed for our flights. I think I was about 5% worried about my health and 95% worried about my year being ruined. The language barrier didn't help. The document I was handed was naturally all in hangul, and when I asked the nurse nervously "So, I got the all clear, right?" she didn't understand me, until I waved my hand between a thumbs up and thumbs down and she smiled and responded with a thumbs up. I don't think I could have been more relieved to see a thumbs up if I'd been in a ancient Roman amphitheatre.
This all brings me to two weeks ago, when as part of my Canadian visa application, I had to complete another medical check. Same tests -chest x-ray, physical, urine and blood tests -except two hundred euros more expensive than its Korean counterpart. This time, the blood tests checked for HIV and Syphilis, neither of which I logically suspected I had, but again, just the fact I was being tested for them started to make me paranoid. I mean... what if?!
I checked with the admin clerk to see if I would get the results, but as I had read online, no -they would send the results straight to the Canadian government, and I would only be alerted of my test results if they refused my visa, but they could send out my my results if I requested them.
"Oh, okay," I said, deciding not to ask for the results and just let bureaucratic nature take its course.
So when, today, I received a large brown envelope from the hospital marked "private and confidential", I freaked out. In the five seconds it took me to rip it open with shaking hands, I felt sick and convinced that I must have something, as there was no other reason they would contact me. I flipped through the sheets.
HIV -negative.
Syphilis -negative.
Lungs -clear.
A slight scoliosis of the dorsal spine convex to my right side, whatever the fuck that means but that's NBD.
Phew.
Of course, I always have that split second of confused panic induced by the association of "negative" with bad things, until I remember how diagnosis works.
Oh my God, the relief, I cannot even express it.
And on the front, a note in biro "Results, as requested." I guess the woman took my "Oh, okay" which I meant as "I understand, nevermind" to mean "Great, please send me my results!"
Which is fine. Hey, it's good to know. Being officially notified that you don't have syphilis is pretty neat, in the same way it's nice to be reminded I have no student debt or that I don't live somewhere that will be affected by the cicada swarmageddon. It doesn't really change anything, but it's good news all the same.
But damn if I didn't nearly shit my pants first.
I get regular STI tests, aiming for about every six months. And I've never really suspected I've had an STI (which, bear in mind, can often be symptomless), I just get checked to be on the safe side, and because THAT'S WHAT RESPONSIBLE, SEXUALLY MATURE GROWN-UPS DO (If you can't tell from previous posts, it pisses me off that most guys I know do not get tested regularly, or in many cases, ever. You deserve to never get laid!)
Still, from the moment I pee in that cup until the moment I get my results, I'm suddenly convinced that I have acquired every STI under the sun. What if all my previous tests and clear results have been one big admin error and it turns out I have an extremely advanced stage of AIDS? What if that in-grown hair I had a couple weeks ago wasn't an ingrown hair at all, but was in fact My First Herpe? What if I have some new thing that they don't even have a test for yet?! It doesn't matter if I have been accidentally celibate since my last test, I'm still paranoid that by the very action of getting tested, I've caught something.
So, when I arrived in Korea and was taken to a hospital on my second day for the routine medical testing, I got predictably worried again. A chest x-ray, physical, urine and blood tests. In fact, it was my first blood test ever. (I was so super-pleasantly surprised at how quick and painless the blood test actually was, that I'm no longer that bothered my needles actually. Win!)
Still, despite not being into unprotected sex or intravenous drugs, I was terrified when I went to collect my results a week later. What if, what if, what if? A lot of my fellow teacher friends admitted to experiencing the same paranoia over their health checks too.
The tests checked for HIV and Hepatitis, and if we had one, we would immediately have our visas cancelled, be sent home and would not be reimbursed for our flights. I think I was about 5% worried about my health and 95% worried about my year being ruined. The language barrier didn't help. The document I was handed was naturally all in hangul, and when I asked the nurse nervously "So, I got the all clear, right?" she didn't understand me, until I waved my hand between a thumbs up and thumbs down and she smiled and responded with a thumbs up. I don't think I could have been more relieved to see a thumbs up if I'd been in a ancient Roman amphitheatre.
This all brings me to two weeks ago, when as part of my Canadian visa application, I had to complete another medical check. Same tests -chest x-ray, physical, urine and blood tests -except two hundred euros more expensive than its Korean counterpart. This time, the blood tests checked for HIV and Syphilis, neither of which I logically suspected I had, but again, just the fact I was being tested for them started to make me paranoid. I mean... what if?!
I checked with the admin clerk to see if I would get the results, but as I had read online, no -they would send the results straight to the Canadian government, and I would only be alerted of my test results if they refused my visa, but they could send out my my results if I requested them.
"Oh, okay," I said, deciding not to ask for the results and just let bureaucratic nature take its course.
So when, today, I received a large brown envelope from the hospital marked "private and confidential", I freaked out. In the five seconds it took me to rip it open with shaking hands, I felt sick and convinced that I must have something, as there was no other reason they would contact me. I flipped through the sheets.
HIV -negative.
Syphilis -negative.
Lungs -clear.
A slight scoliosis of the dorsal spine convex to my right side, whatever the fuck that means but that's NBD.
Phew.
Of course, I always have that split second of confused panic induced by the association of "negative" with bad things, until I remember how diagnosis works.
Oh my God, the relief, I cannot even express it.
And on the front, a note in biro "Results, as requested." I guess the woman took my "Oh, okay" which I meant as "I understand, nevermind" to mean "Great, please send me my results!"
Which is fine. Hey, it's good to know. Being officially notified that you don't have syphilis is pretty neat, in the same way it's nice to be reminded I have no student debt or that I don't live somewhere that will be affected by the cicada swarmageddon. It doesn't really change anything, but it's good news all the same.
But damn if I didn't nearly shit my pants first.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
violence begets
No doubt about it, hacking somebody to death with a meat cleaver is pretty brutal and inexcusable. So too is claiming to do such a thing in the name of a religion. But at the same time...
Look I don't know all the facts about Woolwich. Sure, Woolwich has got me thinking about this stuff but I'm NOT talking about Woolwich in particular here, okay? I'm being hypothetical and shit.
If you sign up to the military (of whatever country) and you are sent abroad, and you end up killing people -some of whom may be what you or your government consider "bad" people, but some of whom are inevitably going to be innocent bystanders, and you manage to deal with it by not thinking about these people you have killed as people as real as your own family, friends, neighbours, because you are just being a brave and upstanding citizen serving your country and/or fighting for freedom -fine. But if one day, then somebody chops you up -or chops up one of your friends or family members.. well... it's horrible but don't be a fucking hypocrite about it.
Just because it happens on a nice paved street with a Boots and a Tesco Express instead of some dusty dirt track in some foreign country where you think that stuff belongs, doesn't make it worse.
That violence doesn't belong anywhere and it's not any more okay when it happens to poor people in war torn countries. Is it more shocking when it happens in your own neighbourhood? Sure. But it's not any more unjust.
Those who are "our brave troops!" to some people are those who slaughter the friends and family of other people.
You can see that right?
I felt the same way about 911. Of course it was sad, awful to see so many innocent people killed. But hold up, Amurica, your government does this to people all over the world, all the time. Be shocked, be saddened, but don't act so goddamn offended. If your government is doing shitty things to others, every once in a while, expect the others to hit back. I mean, it's nice to have the privilege of thinking "How very dare they!!" and all, but instead, maybe take a minute to think about your own government's role in all this, or something?
Look I don't know all the facts about Woolwich. Sure, Woolwich has got me thinking about this stuff but I'm NOT talking about Woolwich in particular here, okay? I'm being hypothetical and shit.
If you sign up to the military (of whatever country) and you are sent abroad, and you end up killing people -some of whom may be what you or your government consider "bad" people, but some of whom are inevitably going to be innocent bystanders, and you manage to deal with it by not thinking about these people you have killed as people as real as your own family, friends, neighbours, because you are just being a brave and upstanding citizen serving your country and/or fighting for freedom -fine. But if one day, then somebody chops you up -or chops up one of your friends or family members.. well... it's horrible but don't be a fucking hypocrite about it.
Just because it happens on a nice paved street with a Boots and a Tesco Express instead of some dusty dirt track in some foreign country where you think that stuff belongs, doesn't make it worse.
That violence doesn't belong anywhere and it's not any more okay when it happens to poor people in war torn countries. Is it more shocking when it happens in your own neighbourhood? Sure. But it's not any more unjust.
Those who are "our brave troops!" to some people are those who slaughter the friends and family of other people.
You can see that right?
I felt the same way about 911. Of course it was sad, awful to see so many innocent people killed. But hold up, Amurica, your government does this to people all over the world, all the time. Be shocked, be saddened, but don't act so goddamn offended. If your government is doing shitty things to others, every once in a while, expect the others to hit back. I mean, it's nice to have the privilege of thinking "How very dare they!!" and all, but instead, maybe take a minute to think about your own government's role in all this, or something?
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